


home is where the heart is

by WendigoBaby



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: (kind of - it's set a little before xmas), Alec is a romantic sap and no one can tell me otherwise, Christmas Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Introspection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 20:32:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11859135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WendigoBaby/pseuds/WendigoBaby
Summary: With Christmas right around the corner, the falling snow makes Alec feel nostalgic. He wonders just how far he's come, how much happier he is and whathomemeans to him.





	home is where the heart is

**Author's Note:**

> (yes, i did write a christmas fic in the middle of august, sue me)
> 
> anyway, this has been inspired by a beau taplin quote, i hope you enjoy!

The Institute has never been a home for Alec. 

 

He’s been born into it, the cold cathedral walls of order and humility, the black and white reality. His childhood has been a soldier’s stance, his mother’s sharp tongue and discipline still ingrained into him to this very day. Between the blue-tinted corridors and occasional trips to Idris, his whole life has played out without his input, because the eldest child wears the heavy crown of responsibility. 

 

His life has been endless hours of studies and twice as much time spent training, until breathing burned his lungs and his knuckles turned into a kaleidoscope of bruises beneath the shattered light in the colors of the stained glass windows. His childhood was never truly his own, instead it belonged to his parents, stern-faced and cutting cold, because ‘mistake’ was not a word he was allowed to speak. 

 

At first it stung, but with years passing, the ache was duller, something Alec learned to ignore in favor of trying to be the leader, doing the impossible, being _good enough_. His brother and sister listened alongside him how their lives were never worth as much as the cause, since the ends always justify the means, don’t they?

 

The Institute has never been a home, it’s been a base of operations and a fleeting place of stay, a temporary stage between birth and death; the Nephilim know their fate is a short life in the glory of misplaced priorities.They follow a path carved by the ones before them, even if it feels wrong, because to stand against the only thing you know is to be brave, stupid, or both. So Alec keeps his mouth shut, his emotions locked deep inside and his true self tucked away.

 

Each day used to start in a bedroom without windows, filled with dark and militant colours, then a breakfast eaten in silence, before they were briefed and sent out into the world. Alec has always enjoyed New York, the bustle of it drowning out all those nagging thoughts like dark clouds over a blue sky. The crowds allowed Alec to lose himself, become anonymous and free from all of the obligations weighing down his shoulders; the sound of the Institute doors closing behind him always made it easier to breathe.

 

So, when Alec is finally off duty, he immediately heads for the exit. His steps become more spry, and the stressed scowl semi-present on his face turns into a pleased half-smile at the very thought of what’s ahead. People say their goodbyes as he passes them, answering with nods, but his mind is already elsewhere. 

 

Even though it’s only around five in the evening, the sun is low in the sky. The last rays of peach and amber sun are ricocheting against the New York skyscrapers, accompanied by the long strings of colorful fairy lights hung up in the leafless trees lining the sidewalks. The pathways are clear of snow, dark concrete dusted with sand and it’s as crowded as it gets. People are already making preparations for the upcoming holidays, taking advantage of all the kitschy and loud advertisements, their hands full of stuffed bags and faces lit up in excitement. 

 

The winter chill bites at Alec’s gloved fingers as he swiftly makes his way through the throng of bodies, pulling the dark suede coat tighter around himself. While December weather is a pretty and nostalgic setting, Alec doesn’t appreciate the temperature dropping, his nose constantly red at the tip and his hands numb no matter how many layers he has on. Keeping that in mind, Alec runs his errands quickly, stepping in and out of a few mundane shops, runes and weapons glamoured. 

 

At the end, he’s got a couple of plastic bags hanging around his wrist and tapping against the side of his thigh as he makes his way to Magnus’ loft. It’s a bit of a trek to the nearest subway station, so by the time he rounds the entrance and bounces down the steps, he can’t feel his toes anymore. On the upside, the subway car he picks is relatively far from packed and kind of clean. Foregoing the invisibility glamour, he tucks himself near one of the doors, a perfect vantage point for people-watching. 

 

Usually, Alec would tip his head back and close his eyes, burying himself in his own thoughts and imagination, but now, he observes. To his right, a mother is rocking her sleeping daughter, the small girl curled up in her lap with a teddy bear. The woman lifts her head from where she has her mouth pressed against a freckled forehead, meets Alec’s gaze before smiling at him; he smiles back. 

 

Alec’s never had that kind of warmth in his early life - his familial relationships were all quite distanced aside from his siblings and he’ll never forget the way they hugged him in a reassuring gesture of camaraderie. But it’s never been that heart-melting sweetness of love outside of blood-bonds, that feeling of belonging in someone’s arms and knowing their heart is your own. 

 

Then, Magnus came along, took Alec’s hand and tugged him down a less-walked path to Eden on Earth. At first, it was all tentative and new, but slowly they learned to speak the same language and bend in compromise when needed. They shared secrets, bared their flaws and made memories clearer than any photograph. What they have has gone from a dance among eggshells to something sure and inextricable. 

 

Home is a safe haven, a place to hide from storms, a bay to return to each evening with a smile on your face. Alec thinks of it as a place where he can be vulnerable and soul-bare, let down his guards and rest his head in his lover’s lap; where he’s allowed to just be.

 

The subway slows around a bend, jostling everyone inside the car and Alec watches dim lights flee past dirtied windows. An old couple sits beneath one of them, their hands wrinkled and colored with time, but still holding onto each other tight. Next to them sit two teenage boys sharing a pair of headphones, their eyes closed and heads tilted towards each other.

 

Home is a place where love is unapologetic and unconditional, where there’s no shame in heritage and past, where promises are kept and time doesn’t matter, because there’s never enough of it. Home is acceptance and respect, support in difficult decisions. It’s a forever hand-in-hand with the one Alec will hopefully marry one day. 

 

He’s not sure what brings these thoughts out. Perhaps it’s the near-Christmas atmosphere, where the families shown on the TV gather around tables and sing carols in unison. Everyone sits and eats together, talking about happiness and love. Shadowhunters are traditionalists by nature, so normally they don’t celebrate Christmas, considering it as something mundane. Yet ever since the first time Alec has spent winter holidays with Magnus, they’ve taken to organising a small get-together for their friends and family, a pleasant relaxed dinner filled with laughter and delicious food made with care.

 

The speakers above Alec’s head announce the correct station and he blinks himself back into reality, following people outside the station. He stops for a moment, tilts his head towards the sky and lets his eyes dip closed as massive snowflakes float down from the navy and purple sky, little melting kisses landing on his cheeks and forehead, catching in his hair and eyelashes. 

 

He’s tired and the world keeps turning too quickly, but it’s okay; for once, _it’s okay_.

 

The path to Magnus’ loft is ingrained in Alec’s brain by now, feet leading him on their own. The sweet smell of mulled wine from a vendor outside follows him into the elevator up to the last floor and to the penthouse doors. 

 

Warmth welcomes Alec as soon as he crosses the threshold, enveloping his aching body in familiarity and a sense of calm. The lamps in the living room are off, but there’s a stripe of light coming from underneath the entrance to Magnus’ study, meaning he’s still working on something. 

 

Alec tugs off his snow-covered boots and sets them neatly aside, adamant to not be one of the people traipsing all over the precious Persian rugs in dirty shoes. Then, off goes the thigh holster with the Seraph blade inside, set against a table in the hall. As Alec starts to unbutton his coat, he moves towards the office, the hum of New York a quiet ambiance in the background. 

 

Everything feels still, yet lived-in at the same time. Subtle pieces of everyday life are scattered throughout the space - a fuzzy blanket neatly folded over the back of the blue armchair, a book left out on the coffee table, a bracelet abandoned on the arm of the couch.

 

Alec pushes the doors with the tips of his fingers, letting them slowly swing open to reveal Magnus sitting at his desk, bathed in the honeyed glow of the lights. He seems deep in thought, chin propped up on the back of his palm and a pen tapping rhythmically against the edge of an open book. The whole mahogany surface is taken up by aged volumes and sheets of paper filled with Magnus’ elegant handwriting. On the far edge of it, Alec can spot an empty whiskey glass, which is just more proof Magnus has been working for a while. 

 

Alec doesn’t want to interrupt and break Magnus’ concentration, but before he can back away, Magnus lifts his head, tips it to either side in a stretch before he senses Alec’s presence, eyes catching on his form in the doorway and a slow smile blooming on his lips. 

 

“Hello, handsome,” he says, putting down his pen with a sigh. His gaze slips from Alec’s face and down his body, stopping on the plastic bags still hanging from his wrist. “What do you have there?”

 

“I bring offerings for the High Warlock of Brooklyn,” Alec replies, stepping closer and setting the parcel in Magnus’ lap, who rifles through the contents. “I got chinese on the way home since you were craving some yesterday. Also some red velvet cupcakes, just because I could.” 

 

When Magnus looks up at him with fondness and gratitude, Alec offers a lopsided smile. Sometimes it’s the simple things that count the most. He leans down for a hello kiss and Magnus cups his face with warm hands, thumbs running along his cheekbones. Alec’s smile widens into a pleased grin and he’s sure the redness in his cheeks isn’t only from the cold. 

 

Magnus sets the bag aside and turns back to his previous task as Alec comes to stand behind him, hands absentmindedly kneading the tense muscles in Magnus’ wide shoulders. 

 

“What are you working on?”

 

Magnus scratches at the side of his goatee, leaning back into Alec’s touch as he shuffles through the papers, organising them into neat stacks until only thing that’s left in the center is the book that looks like it’s going to fall apart at any moment, filled with erratic scribbles almost swimming before Alec’s eyes. 

 

“I’m trying to crack the code on this ancient spell book. I feel like the answer is staring me in the face at this point,” Magnus’ voice sounds weary and worn, betraying the way he feels beneath the layer of affection. “I’m done with it for today, though, and dinner with you sounds amazing right now.” 

 

Magnus stands up from the swivel chair and picks up the food still waiting for them, before heading towards the living room. “How was your day, Alexander?” He calls from the other room. Alec follows the voice, shrugging off his coat and hanging it on the rack on his way there, along with a woollen scarf he was gifted by Magnus.

 

“Same old, same old, saving the world and stuff,” he answers nonchalantly, turning back to find Magnus staring at him with a raised brow as he’s setting out all of the containers on the coffee table in front of the couch. 

 

“Is that so?”

 

“Uh-huh. Sent three packs of Ravener demons back to where they came from and somehow survived an hour long meeting with the Inquisitor herself,” Alec puts on a nonchalant tone, theatrically rolling his eyes as Magnus hums in sympathy. They both know how bad that experience is, especially considering Imogen Herondale’s stance on their relationship.

 

“All in a day’s work,” Magnus quips back as he summons a couple of beers, the brand recommended by Maia one time Alec swung by the Hunter’s Moon to pick up something for Luke. 

 

“Well, the meeting would’ve gone smoother if _someone_ didn’t send me silly selfies.” 

 

Giddy and definitely guilty laughter bubbles up in Magnus’ chest as he tries to hide a smug smile behind his ringed fingers, shoulders shaking with mirth. He already looks a little less tired, his eyes crinkled in the corners and bright. Alec feels a surge of love crest like a wave inside his heart; this is something he will never tire of, laughter and freedom and tenderness. 

 

His mind runs back to those pictures, the first one coming in just as Alec walked into the conference room. It was a simple picture of Magnus smiling and winking (and is currently Alec’s new phone background), but then it went downhill in the best of ways - each picture becoming more and more ridiculous. Alec had trouble keeping his stony expression on when Magnus was pulling random faces, somehow still adorable despite the triple-chin. 

 

“I knew you’d appreciate my works of art. I had to keep myself sane as I was working,” Magnus says, the lilt of laughter still audible in the pleased tone of his voice and his shoulders falling into the motions of a flirtatious shimmy. 

 

“The Inquisitor caught me smiling at my phone and she looked ready to leave this plane of existence.”

 

Magnus continues to laugh as he sits down on the couch, sinking into the array of pillows thrown all over it; Alec joins him, stretching his legs and throwing an arm around Magnus’ shoulders. He doesn’t even try to look chastising, because there’s no point to it - she may be Jace’s grandma, but she’s an awful person and if making fun of her is all they have right now, then Alec will take it. 

 

With a snap of his fingers, Magnus opens the beers and hands Alec one, then kisses him, all warm mouth and solid body. It feels right to be there, with snow falling outside the windows and familiar fingers resting at his thigh. 

 

“Miss Herondale can stick it,” Magnus announces and they clink the dew-covered bottles together. 

 

They dig into the food and Magnus puts on Brooklyn 99 from where they left off, but Alec feels his attention drifting away from the witty banter and towards Magnus. He keeps tapping a slow rhythm against Alec’s leg, eyes blinking slowly and mouth quirked up at the corners. He’s beautiful and perfect and he’s everything Alec ever wanted from life. 

 

The food and the drinks are long finished and somewhere between episodes, they lay down, both of them sleepy in the subtle bluish glow of the television screen. Alec finds himself squished between the couch and Magnus’ side, cheek pillowed on his chest and fingers tucked into the space between the buttons of Magnus’ shirt, settled against smooth skin. The steady rise and fall of Magnus’ torso is lulling Alec to sleep, the warlock already dozing off, his palm settled against Alec’s back and his whole body relaxed. 

 

Outside, the snow continues to fall.

 

For some, home isn’t even a place. For Alec, it’s a pair of elegant hands, a kind soul and a heartbeat.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on [tumblr](www.maghnvsbane.tumblr.com)


End file.
